Bone & Loraine

by Ken Farmer

“I agree,” concurred Fiona. “That’s why we came, after all.”

  Loraine nodded. “Even though the suicides and the possible ghost story are fascinating…they’ll keep.”

  “Should we ask Sophia for some suggestions?” asked Fiona.

  “Let’s just wander and see what comes up. I know we’re not far from the Alamo and the mercado,” said Loraine.

  Bone got to his feet from the embroidered settee. “Lead on, then, o great Spanish conquistador.”

  “Damn you, Bone, don’t get in trouble now,” Loraine said as she backhanded him across the chest.

  He worked his eyebrows up and down, twice. “Just figured we were on a conquest, since you speak the native’s lingo.”

  Loraine rolled her eyes. “Come on…Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  “Ooh, good one, Pard.”

  “Can’t wait to see what kind of trouble you’re going to get us into,” she added.

  “Yeah, me too,” Bone responded and swatted Loraine’s butt playfully.

  “Not time to get romantic, Bone.”

  “Oh, darn.”

  “I thought ya’ll would quit sniping at each other after you got married,” said Mason.

  Bone cocked his head at him. “What’s the fun in that…grampa.”

  “Damn you, Bone, don’t you start with that,” said Fiona.

  He giggled as he followed Loraine out the door.

  They walked downhill through the sylvan area that bordered the San Antonio River on both sides and crossed the narrow bridge that had been replaced numerous times due to flooding. The river started with springs close to present downtown San Antonio, and then joined the Guadalupe River.

  “What say we stop in that cantina there and get a beer, or better yet, see if they got some of that Cactus Wine before we go on down to the Alamo?” suggested Bone.

  “Now you’re talkin’,” agreed Mason.

  Bone pushed the batwing doors open for the ladies and they entered the darkened Rosa’s Cantina. They walked up to the bar after their eyes adjusted to the semi darkness.

  “Good, not too crowded,” said Loraine. “And smells about like the saloons back in Jacksboro except for the pepper ristras hanging about the room.”

  “What’d you expect, Pard?” asked Bone.

  “It appears we’re a little ahead of the rush,” commented Fiona.

  A clean cut, fifty year old, wiry, leather-faced bartender walked up and noticed their badges.

  “Good afternoon, officers, what’ll ya’ll have? My name’s Vernon.”

  “You got any Cactus Wine?” asked Bone.

  Vernon cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. “Well…yes, sir. Have you ever had Cactus Wine before?”

  “Once,” replied Bone.

  “And you want it again?”

  “Sure…But, only one.” He held up one finger.

  “Ah, you have had it before.” Vernon grinned.

  “You could say that,” said Loraine glancing at Bone.

  Vernon set four gill shot glasses on the bar, turned around, took a wicker covered bottle from the counter behind him and filled them with the pale amber liquid.

  “I would just sip it if I were you…don’t want to slam it back.”

  Bone nodded and grinned. “Been there, done that.”

  They picked up the four ounce glasses, clinked them and each took a slight sip.

  “Um, that is smooth,” said Fiona looking at Vernon.

  He nodded and smiled. “Uh-huh…and that’s the danger…uh, Marshal.”

  “I can testify to that.” Bone looked back to the bartender. “You said your name was Vernon?”

  He wiped a nonexistent stain from the polished bartop. “Yessir, Vernon Wyland.”

  “You look like cavalry,” said Mason.

  “Yessir, was…twenty-five years.”

  Mason nodded. “I remember you trooper. I’m Captain Mason Flynn…You were in my company up north when we were chasing the Comanch.”

  “Yessir, recognize you now.”

  He paused. “You got captured, didn’t you?”

  Vernon paled, stared down at the bartop and nodded. “Quanah Parker’s Kwahadi bunch caught me.”

  “I sent a squad in to rescue you…They stampeded their horses and when the warriors ran to catch them, they came in, cut you loose from that stake and got you out of their village.”

  “Yessir, I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t. The Kwahadi medicine man, Isa-tai, was makin’ a example of me for their people.” Vernon took a deep breath. “Seein’ how much torture I could stand before I died…He gelded me, an’ then was skinnin’ the hide from my back…in little strips.” He looked away and bit his lower lip. His entire body quivered with emotion.

  Loraine took a sharp intake of air. “I am so sorry, Vernon…You worked over at the Villa de la Vega for Sophia, didn’t you?”

  Vernon’s eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am. Gardener and maintenance man…till last week…That’s when…when I found Mister Armstrong.” His eyes started to fill up. “Just hangin’ there.”

  “Do you mind if we ask you some questions…The Texas Rangers asked if we would investigate this incident while we were here…Things just don’t seem to add up.”

  He nodded.

  “What kind of mood was he in that afternoon, Vern?” asked Bone.

  He took another breath. “Pretty damn…sorry ladies…good, you ask me. Beat me like a redheaded stepchild…That’s why I couldn’t never understand why he…Uh…” Vernon pursed his lips and looked down again.

  Loraine gave him a few seconds to gather himself. “I have a couple of questions for you Vernon…One, did you have an argument with Clayton Armstrong while ya’ll were playing chess?”

  His head jerked up and he almost shouted. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with him killin’ his self!…”

  Bone interrupted him. “Vern, we’re just trying to get to the bottom of this thing…Something’s not addin’ up…Like we mentioned. Now, did you have an argument with him?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a argument…Finally checked him after three games an’ he immediately checkmated me…beatin’ me four straight…couldn’t win for losin’.”

  Sophia told us you never came back for your pay…What’s that about?” asked Loraine.

  “Well, uh…when I saw him hangin’ there, in his room…dead…Kinda lost it, you know? Couldn’t understand it neither…His hands was tied, but I could see from the door his fingers was bloody around the nails, you know?…Seen too much dyin’…Friends an’ settlers shot, burnt, hung, or all cut up an’ scalped in the Injun wars…even little kids. I kinda uh…fell back into the bottle…” He looked up again. “You know?”

  “How come you to start workin’ here?” asked Mason.

  “Miz Rosa, she found me out in the alley passed out next to her trash barrels an’ made me come inside. She cleaned me up, fed me, gave me a place to stay back in her storeroom and gave me this job of work to do…Guess you could say she saved me…I owe her. Tell Miz de la Vega I’m powerful sorry, but I just couldn’t go back in there.”

  “She said you mentioned something about ‘ghosts’ when you looked into the room,” said Fiona.

  Vernon nodded. “I know I seen Mister Don Felipe Diego de la Vega in the room. They’s a big painting of him in that room…That’s how I know who it was.”

  “You mean you saw a person?” asked Bone.

  “Yessir…Only thing is…he wasn’t all there.”

  “What do you mean, Vernon?” questioned Loraine.

  “I could see plumb through him…It was like he was underwater, but I could see the bed on the other side of him…You know?”

  Mason and Fiona exchanged glances.

  “We saw the painting,” said Fiona.

  “You’re stayin’ in that room?” asked Vernon.

  Fiona and Mason both nodded.

  Vernon made the Catholic sign of the cross.

  BONE’S RANCH

  2018

  �
��Well, any ideas?” St. John asked Padrino.

  “Not really, except maybe keep trying to get through on his phone again…I think it’s obvious there’s a gravity anomaly zone around the police station.”

  “I’ve been doing it three or four times a day since he disappeared…Peach told me that it was still on, somewhere…That was the first time I got through to anything but the answering system…You think there’s anywhere else there could be one, beside the cave and the station?”

  “No tellin’…There could even be a zone here on the ranch…There is equipment that can measure the gravitational pull of any given area, but I sure don’t have one and have no idea where to get one, besides maybe NASA….”

  “Joy.”

  “You try every time you think about it…and so will I. Don’t know what we’d do if we did get him, but, I’d like to try,’ said Padrino.

  ROSA’S CANTINA

  1898

  Vernon stepped down the bar to wait on some Mexican vaqueros. One of the men had a long drooping mustache and silver conchos down the side of his black leather pants. He also wore a matching bolero jacket and a silver embroidered black sombrero hung down his back by a braided barbiquejo, turned and looked down at the Americans.

  “Hey, gringos, whatchu do with a pretty señorita?…She’s too good forchu, gran hombre.”

  Bone looked at the vaquero, noticed his black silver concho and stud decorated gunbelt. It was strapped low around his hips with a mother-of-pearl handled Colt Peacemaker in cross-draw on his left side.

  “You got a problem, Pedro?” asked Bone. “And, by the way…it’s señora.”

  “Oh, no, gringo. He paused, got a puzzled expression on his face, and looked at Bone. “How chu know my name es Pedro?”

  Bone grinned. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  The Mexican laughed, showing his single gold front tooth and punched his friend next to him. “Oh, gringo, chu cómico, you no keel Pedro.…Pedro Ruiz keel chu and take the señora, no?”

  Bone laughed out loud and stepped down the bar to Pedro. The Mexican gunhawk drew his Colt, but before he could thumb back the hammer, Bone’s hand shot out like a striking rattler and snatched the pistol away. He held the gun up and looked at it closely.

  “Got a new shooter, I see, Pedro.” Bone glared at him. “And the answer is…no.” He simultaneously drew his .50 cal from under his coat and shoved it under Pedro’s chin, lifting him up on his toes.

  Bone thumbed back the hammer of the huge handgun, leaned down and whispered in Pedro’s ear. The swarthy-skinned gunslick turned pale as his eyes got big and the whites showed completely around them. A yellow puddle gathered about the sole of one of his black, silver toe-capped, knee-high boots.

  A malevolent laugh rumbled softly from deep in Bone’s throat.

  “Sí, sí, Pedro va,” he croaked. “Pedro va.”

  Bone let him down.

  “¿Puedo tener mi arma…mi pistola,” asked the gunhawk meekly, pointing at the Colt.

  Bone just stared down at him stoically.

  He repeated, “Sí, sí, Pedro va.” He turned and quickly headed to the doors and outside.

  His friends looked up at Bone and started backing away, completely out the batwings after Pedro.

  Bone giggled and headed back to Loraine, Fiona and Mason.

  “What the hell was that about?” asked Mason.

  “Remember me telling ya’ll when we were up in the Kiamichis with Teddy Roosevelt about the Mexican gunhawk that Bass and I convinced to leave?”

  “Oh, you used Lucy’s bracelet to make yourself invisible, said you were the Spirit of the Seven Devils and kept his gun and gunbelt,” answered Loraine. “And that he and everyone with him would die,” commented Loraine.

  “He left the country and was supposed to head back to Mexico,” said Fiona.

  “What did you tell him when you whispered in his ear? He got pale as a ghost.” asked Mason.

  He giggled again. “Told him I was the messenger from the Spirit of the Seven Devils sent to see if he went back to his country…Told him he didn’t go far enough and the Spirit was angry…very angry.”

  Loraine laughed and hit Bone across the chest. “You are so bad, you big lug.”

  He grinned. “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Pretty.”

  He picked her up off the floor by her waist and they kissed.

  §§§

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BONE’S RANCH

  2018

  “You know, Captain, I think I do have something I want to try,” said Padrino.

  He walked over to his bookcase and took out a leather covered jewel case from a shelf and opened it.

  “Well?”

  Padrino held up a six inch long, forest green, translucent, teardrop-shaped crystal.

  “Is that an emerald!” asked an incredulous St. John.

  “Nope it’s a tectite type of crystal formed from the impact of a giant meteorite…Called a moldivite. It was given to me years ago when I was a young man by an old Navajo Shaman when I studied with him…He said it amplifies, channels and expands the energy of certain people’s spirit energy…The Shaman indicated that I was one of these people. It’s not the same as a natural quartz with standard six-sided crystals that are uniform and they grow that way…no forming crystal within the ‘mother’ crystal of moldvite is repeated like a natural crystal because it doesn’t grow…it was formed on impact…Each and every one of the molecules are different, like snowflakes, because part of it is terrestrial and part is extraterrestrial…That make sense? ”

  St. John held out his hand. “No…May I?”

  Padrino handed the stone to him. “Light…and warm.” He looked up at his friend. “Is it vibrating?”

  Padrino nodded.

  “Wonder where it came from?”

  “Most likely from the meteorite crater area near Flagstaff, Arizona. The Shaman said he’d had it for years, it was given to him by his mentor, who had also had it for years…It’s known as the Canyon Diablo Crater that was formed some 50,000 years ago in the Pleistocene epoch when a fifty meter wide meteorite impacted the area…This is a very large, museum quality moldivite crystal.

  “So, what do you intend to do with it?” asked St. John.

  Padrino’s light brown, gold-flecked eyes twinkled. “I’m going to the cave where we know there’s a very strong gravitational anomaly, plus there’s a full moon this evening which will increase its strength.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m going inside with the crystal and enter into a state of zen meditation and see if it’s enough, with the crystal’s help, to activate the electromagnetic vortex and transport me back in time. The world of quantum physics has proved that thoughts are responsible for controlling and directing energy.”

  St. John stepped back and sat down heavily in his chair. “Are you nuts?”

  “I’m a Marine.”

  St. John nodded. “’Nuff said…Don’t know why I asked, Master Guns, my brother…What do you want me to do?”

  “Take me there…If it works, don’t want my truck to be found abandoned like Bone’s Thing.”

  “Good thought. When?”

  “What time is it?”

  An hour later, St. John’s vehicle stopped back at the cliff near the cave.

  Padrino got out, grabbed his rucksack from the back seat and slipped it over his shoulders. He checked his .45 caliber 1911A Colt that he had carried in ‘Nam’.

  “Got plenty ammo?” asked St. John.

  “No such thing, Captain, you know that.”

  “Right. Got an extra box in my trunk if you want it.”

  Padrino looked askance at him.

  “Right.” St. John popped the trunk of his car and took the box of .45 ACP Colt rounds out and slipped it into Padrino’s ruck when he turned around.

  “Well, got a canteen of water, couple of MREs, three pounds of jerky, some smoked ham, couple of
loaves of my bread, my fishin’ kit, matches, flint, my K-Bar, money, and phone…Think I’m good to go.”

  “What kind of money? They won’t recognize our paper money.”

  “Gold and silver coins.”

  “What’d you pay for the silver?”

  “Average of about eighteen dollars.”

  “Eighteen dollars that will be a dollar in 1898?”

  Padrino nodded. “Know how much a dollar would buy in 1898?”

  “Oh, right…good idea, but, why your phone?”

  “Worked for you and Bone…might work for me under the right circumstances, plus it has a recorder and a camera.”

  “Another good thought…How are you going to find him and Loraine if this works?”

  “Go to where we know they’re deputy sheriffs…Jacksboro. It’s about twenty-five miles north from here and that’s just…”

  St. John grinned. “‘A little stretch of the legs, right?’, the Duke’s line from The Quiet Man.”

  “Yep, one of my favorite movies…He should have won the Oscar for that one,” said Padrino.

  “Agreed…What if you don’t go to the right time?”

  “Then I’ll try to get back,” answered Padrino.

  “‘Do or do not. There is no try.’…”

  “Master Yoda.”

  St. John nodded and tilted his head up at the cave. “Shall we…I’m going to watch.”

  “You might get sucked in by the vortex.”

  “Just a minute…I’ll get another box of ammo.”

  VILLA DE LA VEGA

  1898

  The four sat around Fiona and Mason’s room after unloading the trinkets, clothing and carvings they had bought at the mercado.

  Bone set the bottle of Cactus Wine he bought on the dresser. “Boy, don’t know about ya’ll, but I got chill bumps walking around the Alamo.”

  “Me too,” said Loraine. “Talk about spirits…I could feel them all around there.”

  “You too?” asked Fiona.

  “Spooky,” added Bone as he handed the CSI kit to Loraine. “Well, shall we get started?”

  “What do you expect to find? It’s been over a week.”

  “Edmond Locard’s theory of exchange principle states that, ‘Every contact between two items, leaves a trace. It cannot be wholly absent. Only human failure to find it, study and understand it, can diminish its value.’,” said Loraine.